


I love you.

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Death, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Love, M/M, POV Ryan Ross, POV Second Person, Panic! at the Disco - Freeform, Past Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Sad, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING// self harm, substance abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse.  If you are sensitive to any of these topics please do not read this fanfiction....I first noticed you at at the end of summer.  We were at the park.  You were on your back, staring at the clouds, giggling at seemingly nothing.  You were five, and I was six.  Everything was perfect.I skipped over to you.  You smiled at me.  Soon, there was less room on the blanket you were laying on, and we were pointing out clouds together.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Kudos: 14





	I love you.

I first noticed you at at the end of summer. We were at the park. You were on your back, staring at the clouds, giggling at seemingly nothing. You were five, and I was six. Everything was perfect.

I skipped over to you. You smiled at me. Soon, there was less room on the blanket you were laying on, and we were pointing out clouds together.

Soon your mom called you, telling you it was time to go home. You pouted but she insisted. So you picked up your blanket and hugged me goodbye. I cried. I would never see you again. The world was ending. Everything was not perfect.

The next time it was just a couple days later. We were at school. You had just started at this school. We were in all the same classes. (Of course we were, we were in Kindergarten.) You smiled at me. I beamed back. Everything was perfect again.

We were best friends. I couldn't live without you, and you would never admit it, but you couldn't live without me.

You sang. Wonderfully. I would beg and beg for you to sing to me every day. Sometimes, on the days when I came to school crying, you would oblige.

I didn't do anything like that. I could play guitar, albeit awfully. My fingers were clumsy and thin and long. You did everything better than me.

My mom put me in ballet. You begged and begged your mom to do it with me, but she'd never let you. She hated the fact that you hung out with me.

We grew older together. You joined a choir. I quit dance. Turns out, long legs and clumsiness don't mix when you're striving for gracefulness.

You sang for me more often. Sometimes, when my dad was too drunk to notice, I'd sneak out to see your rehearsals and shows. I'd sit in the back of the auditorium. You'd never see me.

When I was seven, my mom died. You were right there beside me when I cried. Nothing could ever come between us. In the days when I mourned and you were holding me, we were infinite.

Right then, life was almost perfect.

As the years went on, we grew further and further apart. My dad hurt me more. But, it was okay.

Because you were happy.

You hung out with the popular crowds at school. You were at the top of your game. Cute brown hair and chocolate eyes, plush pink lips and adorable smile, you were the one all the girls longed for.

You never talked to me. I never tried.

Any time we saw each other in the hallway you would just turn away. Your friends would make fun of me. You never said anything.

I saw you after school one day. My heart was racing and my face was flushed red as I asked you why you didn't talk to me anymore. You simply shrugged and shoved my shoulder. Then you biked away.

My chest hurt. My eyes hurt. Everything hurt. I told myself you hated me. I told myself I was worthless. I went home that night. No one was there. I slit my wrists. You were the only thing that had brightened my days for as long as I could remember. It wasn't worth living anymore.

Then my doorbell rang. It was you. I got up from the toilet and opened the door, a trail of blood behind me. You looked me up and down in shock, then pushed me back to the bathroom. That was the last day I ever cut.

You bandaged my wrists. You told me I was perfect, that I was worth it. I didn't believe you, but I nodded anyways. Instead of taking in your words, I took in the way your beautiful honey tinged eyes watched me. I looked at the way your hair moved and the way you took care of me. That was the first day you kissed me. You never told me why you came back.

When my dad came home, stumbling through the door, I knew we were in trouble. I told you to hide, anywhere. I remembered the trail of blood leading to the bathroom. My dad knocked and you were hiding in the shower. I trembled and turned the knob. My dad ruthlessly punched and kicked me while you watched with frightened eyes. I know you wanted to help. But I told you to stay back, and however much you loved me, you were scared too. It's okay, baby. It's okay.

I passed out and only then did he leave. He started downing beers like no tomorrow. Every once in a while, he'd call my name and demand I get him a beer. But you were still trying to wake me up. He didn't care.

When he finally passed out from the inebriation, that was when I woke. My eyes were black and my body was blue. My legs were green and my arms were purple. I felt like puking and you just sat there, pity in your eyes. I stood. You stood with me. I took you outside and asked you to never come back. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done but you listened. You cried, but you listened. You told me not to get hurt. I'll try, baby.

We were fourteen.

Everything was okay. Because no matter how fucked up I was, you were still perfectly happy.

We started hanging out at school sometimes. You'd smile at me now. You would corner me in the bathroom about once a week. Check my wrists and make sure I was okay.

On my fifteenth birthday, you told me to meet you at the park. I smoked a cigarette on the way there. I tried to stub it out before you'd notice, but you already had. You noticed everything.

Nevertheless, you came over to me and you checked my wrists. You led me over to the spot where we first met and laid down on the grass. There was no blanket to cover our backs, but it was still just as perfect as the first time.

You looked at me and asked me to be your boyfriend. I said yes, no hesitation. You turned on your side and smiled before you kissed me. It was so much more romantic than the last time half a year ago.

You asked me not to smoke anymore. I told you I'd try, but as we walked away from the park hand in hand, I broke that promise. You didn't stop me, but just looked at me sadly and watched as I coated my lungs with black tar.

You were still happy though, because you had me. So everything was alright.

The next day my dad told me I had to move out. I knocked on your door. I was covered in bruises and cuts from head to toe. You asked your mom if I could stay with you. She said no, without hesitation. She already had five kids. She didn't need a sixth, extremely fucked up one.

You cried, told me that you'd find a way to help me.

I spent the entire school year homeless. No one would take me in, and I wouldn't blame them. I got skinnier and skinnier.

You started sitting next to me at lunch. I didn't mind, but I thought you would.

Your crowd started teasing you for being gay, simply because you hung around "the gay kid."

You stood up to them but it was no use. They hated you for it.

I tried to tell you it was okay, to go hang out with your friends.

I had always held you back.

You shook your head and stood by me. The next day you picked me up for school. All over the hood and sides of your car, there were red streaks of spray paint. There were red, violent homophobic slurs all over your nice car. I apologized. You took my face. You kissed me and you said it wasn't my fault. I didn't believe you. I never could.

You bought me breakfast and I scarfed it down. Then I cried, telling you I'd pay you back somehow. You shook your head and took me in your arms. I never paid you back.

Soon we were 17 and your parents kicked you out too. They found out about us. I welcomed you to my ratty apartment with open arms. I comforted you all night.

Somehow, you were still happy.

You were always happy.

Now we're twenty one. Or, I am. You're gone. You have been, for 15 years. You died when we were six. You never got to live your life, except the one in my head. I visit your grave every day. But sometimes, I wonder if you'd even love the person I decided to be. I wonder sometimes even if it's worth living. But then I remember you. You were so, so perfect. If you're not allowed to live your life, the least I can do is live mine in your memory. So I do. And I will. And even though I know you'll never hear me say it, I love you, Brendon. Always will.

-RR.


End file.
